


Let's share a drink!

by NohaIjiachi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Semi-Crack, aziraphale being an On Brand Bastard, gruesome discorporation hinted at, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21574657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NohaIjiachi/pseuds/NohaIjiachi
Summary: “Angel?” Crowley frowned, closing the book he was currently browsing with a snap. He glanced at the grandfather clock in a the corner. Yep, not even eight hours. “How did you get them to give you a body so fast?!”Aziraphale’s smile turnedwicked.“Oh, my dear, let’s put these back where they should be and open a bottle, this is a story that deserves agoodwine."
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 416





	Let's share a drink!

**Author's Note:**

> Here's one more kink meme fill! This time around for a [pretty funny prompt](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=608360#cmt608360) : D
> 
> Enjoy~

There was only so much ‘being careful’ even two supernatural beings could do, before something unforeseen simply happened.

They’ve been walking down the street toward a new restaurant that opened just recently quite a distance away from Soho.

“It’s one of those pretentious little places that invites ‘influencers’ and serves food in shoes or something, we are both going to hate it, it’s going to be awesome,” Crowley had said, smiling from ear to ear.

“Why would we go somewhere we will both hate?” Aziraphale had asked, utterly confused. He loved Crowley, but he really did _not_ understand him, sometimes. “And what is an influencer?”

Crowley had simply barked a laugh, throwing his head back, and then dragged Aziraphale outside the bookshop by an elbow.

They never made it to the restaurant they would hate. They reached the address, spent some minutes cursing -Crowley- while searching for a spot to park the Bentley, before _making_ one, and looking around -Aziraphale-, since it had been quite a while since they last came around that part of the city.

“Seems lovely—“ Aziraphale had started to say as they approached the restaurant, and then the piano landed on him, instantly crushing his spine right at the start of his neck, ensuring a haste death for his corporation.

Multiple thoughts passed in the brief, infinitesimal instant the heavy instrument falling from the sky made contact with him, and the instant everything went black, as he was rudely ejected from his corporation.

Thoughts like “Oh, seriously?” and “Six thousand years! Oh, there will be so much paperwork—“ and “This is a messy way to die for sure,” and “And a stupid way, too,” and “Oh— Oh, wait. Bugger. This will be a problem.”

The second after he was back in Heaven, wearing white and cream from head to toe, and blinking repeatedly even though he did not need to -some habits stuck even without a body, when you spent as much time on Earth as he did.-

It was, technically, the first time he actually saw the ‘Discorporation Sorting’ hall. It was not much. Just a big square room -needlessly big, as everything in Heaven was-, with a series of numbered doors, an empty desk in a corner, and some posters. Artistic renditions of the various Archangels smiling benevolently looked at Aziraphale from those, sporting phrases like ‘It happens to everyone, but exercise caution, next time!’, and ‘A good Angel is a bodied Angel!’

Aziraphale rolled his eyes so intensely he was sure they might decide to leave and actually go to Alpha Centauri.

“Alright—“ he then murmured to himself, looking around. He was completely alone, which wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad one. The moment of solitude certainly gave him a measure of respite and some time to think about what to do next, but it was also slightly— Unsettling. He knew he was literally the only Angel permanently stationed on Earth, before his— Retirement, but really, did they send so very few Angels down there, to do some work? Ten million of those, if even just half, goodness, even a quarter went on Earth for very touch&go missions, the hall should be buzzing with activity. Aziraphale had no doubt that the disinterested way the other Angels usually visited Earth, only focused on doing What They Were Supposed To, would be the exact reason why so many of them should be discorporating at a constant rate, the poor bastards had no idea what they’d have to deal with—

His musings were stopped by a soft pop, and Aziraphale turned. Oh, there it was, someone else—

And then Aziraphale wanted to slap his own forehead. He wasted precious moments of calm to worry about Heaven’s abysmal way of working, instead of his own situation—

Oh well, he will have to go with the flow.

“Why, hello,” he said, smiling cheerfully, as he usually did when he was nervous. “How… Is it going?”

He did not like being in Heaven. He was supposed to be on Earth, in an obnoxious restaurant that served food in unhygienic but ‘hip’ ways, and laughing about it with Crowley, not— Here, already feeling the bite in the stomach he currently did not have that usually rose whenever he had to deal with Heaven.

The Angel that must’ve recently discorporated looked at Aziraphale with eyes like coins and mouth slightly open. Aziraphale blinked, gently waiting for an answer that was clearly not coming.

“I, huh—“ he then said, when the Angel he did not know just kept staring at him. “Well, this is embarrassing, but I might need some directions— Do you know the fastest way for the ‘Corporation Applications’ front office, dear?”

“I— I— I— I don’t know!” the other Angel exclaimed, loudly. “I can’t help you, sorry!”

And off they went, seemingly launching themselves in the closest door. Aziraphale confusedly stared at them, a little frown on his face.

Oh, this was going to be a huge pain, wasn’t it? It was bad enough he’d have to deal with paperwork and, surely, there would be an endless amount of hoops to jump through, to try convince Heaven to give him another body after… Well, everything.

That was IF they’d be willing to give him one.

Aziraphale bit down on his lip and sighed. He ought not to focus on that thought, even if it had been waiting in the back row of his mind since the second he ‘died’. He had to harbour some hope, if he was to despair from the start he’d hardly get anything done.

It was unlikely he would be given another corporation, but it was worth at least a try.

So, step one, find the office. He approached the desk in the corner, but even after a cursory look and a bit of prying in the drawers he couldn’t find any useful information. He’d have to do this the hard way.

He took the door number five, which, according to the golden plaque, lead to the ‘Old Corporation Registries’ office. If Aziraphale remembered right, that should lead him to the main staircase that went up through Heaven, connected to almost everything. He must’ve been right, because as soon as he went out, he could already see a much livelier area, with Angels coming and going and that vague, indistinguishable soft noise of many voices going about their day.

“Good day, isn’t it?” he asked, still smiling nervously as he went through the needlessly large corridors, and other Angels looked at him with wide eyes. “Lovely, really.”

No one answered, of course. Everyone there despised him, he knew. With a tiny sigh he stopped by the elevator, and looked at the giant panels reporting which offices were at which level.

He was still trying to pin-point the Corporation Applications office, when he heard it.

“That’s _him_—“ someone murmured, sounding— Fearful?

Aziraphale went very still, and pointedly kept acting as if he was still perusing the list, while actually straining his ears and focusing.

“—What was the protocol?”

“I don’t know! I thought you read it—“

“I thought _you_ read it!”

“Should we call security?”

“Wha— No, are you _insane_? They are not strong enough! And who knows how much destruction he could bring if he gets mad— The Metatron, maybe?”

“The Metatron is the voice of God, not the arm of God! Where are the Cherubs?”

“Who the Heaven knows— Oh, lord, he’s looking this way!”

The two Angels who clearly had very little experience in what a ‘whispered conversation’ was supposed to be immediately rose from behind the pillar they were peeking from, one of them thumbing at a smart-phone lookalike that was clearly turned off, and the other whistling. Aziraphale blinked.

You see, Aziraphale sometimes could be a bit stupid. And incompetent. And silly.

But an idiot he was not. And what he heard had been enough to clue him in in something that might’ve been his golden ticket out of there.

His nervous smile turning wickedly sincere, Aziraphale called the elevator, stepped in when it arrived, and declared, “Floor ninety-nine, please, dear,” in an honeyed tone.

“You need an I.D. clearance for that, sir,” the bored Angel by the buttons said, not even looking up from their copy of the daily newspaper.

“Oh, I don’t need it.”

The Angel looked up, mouth open ready to spit whatever pre-made sentence they had to tell Aziraphale that yes, _he did_— But nothing came out, as they paled.

“…Right away, sir,” they then said in a frightful whisper, pushing the correct button. Aziraphale did a little shoulder wiggle as he casually rested his hip against a side of the elevator, making himself comfortable for the ride, and causing the usher Angel to cower in their corner just a tiny bit more.

When he exited on the almost-last floor (the hundredth floor was, supposedly, the one occupied by Her, although Aziraphale had the strong suspicion it had been empty for a long, long time), he was grinning so much his non-corporeal cheeks were hurting.

—

“Hello, Gabriel.”

The document binders Gabriel was carrying dropped on the carpeted floor with a loud thud.

“You’ve got a very nice view! Astounding!” Aziraphale, who was currently sprawled in an almost reclined position on the very big, very soft office chair, feet propped on the edge of the desk, turned just slightly with a big smile. “I’ve always wondered how the panorama looked from all the way up here.”

He wasn’t even comfortable, if he had to be honest, but he knew Crowley would be _so_ proud once he’d tell him the way he had been sitting at Gabriel’s desk. The _cheek_ of it.

Gabriel’s office looked just in line with the way he dressed: the office of a very obnoxious, very ruthless CEO who wanted to flaunt power from the exaggerated quality of the leather office chair, to the sleek stationery that probably saw very little real use, and Aziraphale imagined the offices of the other Archangels wouldn’t look very different.

He watched on, smile plastered on his face, as multiple expressions passed on Gabriel’s face at a break-neck speed. There was anger at first, and then shock, and then fear, and then anger again as he looked at Aziraphale’s feet currently propped near his desktop computer, and then shock again as his mind registered that, yes, Aziraphale was indeed there, sitting in his office, and then fear again as his mind registered that, yes, _Aziraphale was indeed there, sitting in his office_.

“…Aziraphale,” Gabriel finally managed to say, as he casually snapped his fingers to put the binders he dropped back in his arms, his voice pleasantly cordial and his usual ‘business-man-smile’ back on his face. “What do I owe the… Pleasure?”

The hesitation hadn’t meant to be sarcastic, Aziraphale could tell. Gabriel was simply at a loss of words. Aziraphale shifted, taking the feet off the desk only to fully face Gabriel, leaning in to rest his elbows on the wood.

“Oh, dear, you know how it is—“ he sighed, making a vague hand gesture. He never dared to speak with such a tone to Gabriel, before, but he could get used to it— Oh, could Aziraphale get used to it. “A rather unfortunate accident I really could not prevent and, poof! Off goes my body!” he chuckled. “I was thinking about going straight to the Corporation Applications office but— Well, why not come by and say hi, first? I have all the time in the world, after all, and when I’ve last been up here, I could hardly— Spend some time speaking with my fellow Angels, couldn’t I?”

A heavy silence fell, as Aziraphale let some seconds pass to make Gabriel stew in his panic a bit more. He kept pleasantly smiling as Gabriel gaped, as he did not need to be reminded what Aziraphale meant (even if it hadn’t been him up there, last time, not really), and then his mouth fell shut.

“Such a shame, I thought,” Aziraphale continued, as if there had been no pause. “When was the last time I even spoke with any of you fellows? I’d love to take a walk around and have a chat— You know, ask the others how are they doing, if life in Heaven is treating them well—“

He could see the cogs turn in Gabriel’s mind almost as if his forehead was transparent.

Aziraphale remaining in Heaven = Aziraphale going around speaking with other Angels, Aziraphale speaking with other Angels = Aziraphale spreading panic and doubt and possibly set some Angels on fire, Angels being panicked or doubtful or on fire = Bad.

“Oh, you mustn’t worry about that,” Gabriel said, his voice tersely cheerful as he finally stepped into the office and deposited the binders on the first available surface. “Not much has changed, Aziraphale. Same old, same old…”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, tilting an eyebrow as he rested his chin on a closed fist. “But you guys seemed to have embraced so many nice ideas from Earth— Looks to me like a lot has changed!”

“We just implemented new ways to quicken the job, I assure you, hardly interesting!” Gabriel snapped, sounding just slightly panicked. “You’ll probably be very bored in a matter of minutes! Why don’t we just stay here and— Huh— Do. Something.”

“Something like what?” Aziraphale asked innocently.

“I, ah—“ Gabriel looked around, clearly at a loss. There was a cabinet lined along a wall with glasses inside, and not much else. It was clear Gabriel had it for the mere aesthetic of it, whereas the sorts of humans that had those sorts of cabinets with those sorts of glasses usually had expensive bottles of liquors to go with it. “We could drink!”

“Could we?” Aziraphale asked, his smile curling pleasantly.

“Yes! I’ll just— Make a call down to the corporation office, and, huh— They’ll have your new body ready in a jiffy, and we can have a drink in the meantime! You like to drink, right? Feel free to use a nice miracle to get a bottle of your favorite—“

“Don’t mind if I do,” Aziraphale agreed cheerfully, snapping his fingers. A second chair (a normal wooden one, lifted straight up from the most uncomfortable set of chairs he could muster) appeared on the opposite side of the desk, while Aziraphale stayed nice and firm on the very comfortable seating he currently occupied, and an unlabelled, very dirty looking bottle with two wooden pints appeared on the desk.

Gabriel was paying no attention to him, speaking in hushed tones into his mobile. Once he closed the call he turned around with his fake little grin, graciously accepted the seat he was being offered -squirming a bit in search of a comfortable position he would never find- and eyed the bottle apprehensively. Aziraphale made a show of pouring the brown-ish liquid into a pint, pushing it toward Gabriel, and then stopped before he could pour the second.

“Oh, silly me, I can’t drink without a body!” Aziraphale said, putting his free hand on his cheek, as if he was the one that proposed the idea. He sighed theatrically. “Oh, well, don’t mind me, dear. It would be awfully impolite to not let you drink, now, so do go on! I will be with you in _spirit_—“

Gabriel let out a forced little laugh, probably perceiving Aziraphale had meant to say some kind of joke, although he surely did not understand which part was supposed to be the joke, and then took a sip out of his pint. His eyes went wide.

“Oh, darling, I know— It’s hard to drink, if you are not used to it,” Aziraphale said with an understanding nod. “You’re so very brave, wanting to try it out! Just keep calm, don’t breathe at the same time as you swallow, and your body will know what to do.”

Gabriel kept the sip he took in his mouth until he was slightly green in the face, and finally swallowed.

“What is, huh—“ he croaked after long seconds, eyes watering. “What it is that you decided to serve?”

“Oh, this one is a rarity— A one of a kind, I assure you!” Aziraphale cheerfully said, topping up Gabriel’s pint even if he barely drank a single mouthful.

He wasn’t lying. The bottle Aziraphale decided to miracle into existence had been a contraband, home-made attempt at a liquor that a very young, very not-bright sailor on a pirate ship both Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves in had tried to make. Only a single bottle of that had existed in the entirety of the human history.

It was awful. Aziraphale hadn’t even considered trying it, the single whiff he could smell from the bottle almost making him gag. Crowley, who had been already pretty drunk, at that point, somehow talked himself into trying to drink it, muttering ‘if I don’t I’m a coward’.

Some minutes later, after the projectile results of that self-imposed bet had been cleaned away and Aziraphale had managed to stop laughing, Crowley reported it tasting like ‘what I imagine hot garbage juice stewed under the summer sun would taste.’

“O-oh, interesting—“ Gabriel stammered, looking at his full pint like it just sentenced him to a stroll through the nine circles of Hell. “So…” he added, carefully putting it down, but before he could continue Aziraphale tutted.

“Oh, my dear, just one sip? You have to have more, you know, no one ever drinks just a single sip of something!”

“They— Don’t?” Gabriel whispered, sounding almost on the verge of tears. Aziraphale let out a little, confirming hum.

Gabriel drank.

—

“…What is happening, here?”

Crowley whipped around.

It had been barely seven hours since Aziraphale’s ‘death’. Crowley had spent a couple of those making sure to delete the memories of what happened from all the humans involved. He really hoped he didn’t miss anyone, thankfully he made sure that no one could record the gory results of that accident with their phones, while on the spot. He also made sure to properly clean up the— Angelic marmalade Aziraphale’s corporation had turned to. And then he spent an other hour cleaning up splatters of blood and… _Pieces_ that stubbornly hung onto his clothes, somehow finding new ones when he thought he had been done. It was nice he’d had the presence of mind to get right onto taking care of the mess, because if he was to act like a shocked human who just saw his best friend becoming much more gooey shaped under a piano that was dropped accidentally during a moving, he might have lost some marbles.

Once he made a couple more rounds to reassure himself he wasn’t leaving any human around with a traumatic and very difficult to explain memory, and that all that was left of Aziraphale’s old corporation had vanished, he went to the bookshop.

Aziraphale had books about _everything_. There had to be some kind of— Esoteric tome about how to make a body, or something. He remembered reading something about the basic components of a human body, once— Something about water and carbon? Ammonia?

There had to be _something_ that could help them out. It was really shit luck, dying right when they could least count on their respective ex-head offices. Crowley harboured no secret hope that Heaven would play nice and just give Aziraphale a body, so they’d probably have to find a work-around…

And now he was there, sitting on the floor in the middle of the bookshop with open books scattered all over, and a very not-transparent, very body-equipped Aziraphale shedding his coat, confusedly looking at the chaos.

“Angel?” Crowley frowned, closing the book he was currently browsing with a snap. He glanced at the grandfather clock in a the corner. Yep, not even eight hours. “How did you get them to give you a body so fast?!”

Aziraphale’s smile turned _wicked_.

“Oh, my dear, let’s put these back where they should be and open a bottle, this is a story that deserves a _good_ wine.”

—

“So— D’you hear?”

Saylil had never asked for excitement in her life, but since the day her and Maylil had spotted He-who-must-not-be-named (Renegade Angel of the Eastern Gate, To be Avoided at All Costs, The Almost Adversary, Stubbornly Unfallen) while badly hiding and whispering from behind that pillar, excitement had been everything that seemed to run all along the various levels of Heaven.

There was the mere passage of The-one-we-did-not-say-the-name-of, of course, which had been enough to send a good chunk of the lower levels in a frenzy. And then the rumors that followed.

Some said Azira-nope-not-saying-that-name had left a trail of extinguished Angels on his way (which got confirmed as bullshit, seeing as everyone was alive and accounted for and Lilaen, who had been rumoured dying a glorious death trying to heroically fight him, popped back in the office on Monday with an all too human cold stuck to her corporation and a nasally ‘why abe you all looking at me like that? The fun things albays happens when I’m abawy, I sweab—“), some said he tried to reach the Almighty and overthrow her, to seize control of Heaven. Some were so intimately convinced Azi-no-no-don’t-say-it had murdered the Metatron, and their grief had been so profound the floating head popped up in the mess hall right during the usual Sunday Luncheon to say, with a no small amount of irritation, “Stop praying for me, I’m alive!” before disappearing again.

Saylil had stopped paying attention to the rumors quite a while ago, but Maylil tone put her right on guard.

“Did I hear what?”

“Look, I got this from reliable sources—“ Maylil whispered conspiratorial, voice lowering. “The Archangel Gabriel discorporated beyond repair and had to be issued a new body.”

Saylil closed her mouth with a snap, eyes going wide.

“An Archangel— Discorporated?” she stammered, fearful. “Was he attacked by— By you-know-who?”

“That’s the point, no one knows! The cleaning dept. apparently was sent in his office to do some tidying, and they have literally no idea of _what_ they spent a day cleaning up. The Corporation Registry has put down the reason of death as ‘some kind of food poisoning’, complete with three question marks, and the upper echelons’ mouths are firmly sealed. And all the Archangel Gabriel had to say was ‘it wasn’t an attack, no one can kill an Archangel, it was just an accident. Now go back to work!’”

“Security?”

“That’s the strangest part. No Act Of Violence popped up in the watchers radars, no Intent To Kill And Maim, nothing. For all intents and purposes, Azi— _He_ did not have anything to do with this.”

Saylil blinked at Maylil, and then a frown rose on her face.

“… Do you think it’s really just a coincidence?”

“What I think…” Maylil replied, slowly. “Is that we are not being told a lot about Azir— _Him_. I mean, you saw him, he seemed just— Just an Angel, didn’t he?”

Saylil fell silent, and perturbed. As were doing a lot more Angels who exchanged gossip on all levels of Heaven. Somewhere in the Corporation Delivery waiting room, a currently body-less archangel sat and pouted, still somehow feeling that awful taste stuck in his currently not corporeal mouth.

Next time, he’d made damn sure Michael would have to deal with Aziraphale.


End file.
